2019 - Gratitude Month #12 - Our Children

Gratitude day #12

Today I am grateful for my children. More grateful than words can begin to express.

Raising a family was the absolute hardest thing I have ever done in my life. As Dr. Phil says, "I wouldn't give you a dime to do it again; and wouldn't take a million dollars for the experience."

Our children were Peter William (named for the middle names of his father and grandfather), Harmony Rebekah (named for Kerry's sister and Rebekah of the Old Testament), Jordan Christopher (the brand name of a shirt), and Erik Joseph (the Danish spelling of Erik and he was born on the anniversary of Joseph Smith's martyrdom).

Peter had turned five years old two months before Erik was born by emergency c-section. We had just moved into our present home. My mom was extremely ill and would die three months later. Jordan had been in and out of the hospital.

I thought I had died and gone to hell.

But, little did I know at the time that I was indeed born to do hard things. Being the youngest child in my own family, I hadn't been around children much, and I discovered that there was much to learn.

These children were and are wonderful. They have been one of the biggest blessings I could ever imagine, for they helped me to grow right along with them.

They were good children. They behaved well in public places, in church, and mostly at home. They brought God-given gifts and talents with them when they entered this earth that blessed us, and blessed others.

To those who knew them, here is an update:

Peter - he died nearly ten years ago. I have often talked about his death, and will do so again on the anniversary of his death in December.

Harmony - lives in Oregon and is doing a stellar job in her classes at Portland Community College. She has been doing behind-the-scenes work in film production, and has found her niche. We will be seeing her next week when we visit.

Jordan - he and Melissa live with their four children in northern California. They are excellent parents, and their children are perfect. Jordan works in the control room at an oil refinery, and loves his job.

Erik - also lives in California working as a mortgage broker. He prides himself on keeping fit and running marathons.

Peter asked me one time if I miss the times when everyone lived at home. No! A strong NO! However, I do miss "moments", such as trips, holidays and birthdays, Sunday after church when we would walk through the door and smell dinner cooking, our backyard activities, mowing and weeding and cleaning the yard - followed by jumping into the back of the pickup truck to make an ice cream run, etc.

I could go on and on.

These children of ours have brought me to tears, both out of frustration...and joy. Part of this is because:

Adults produce children.

And, children produce adults.

How grateful I am for the four who were sent to our home. I am who I am because of you.

Parents Outliving Their Children

Oh, today is a hard one.

It was just two years ago that the Memorial Service for my oldest son was held.  At the very moment I am writing this, I am looking back at two years to the moment that I was standing in a receiving line as hundreds of friends and family members came from across the country to help us bid farewell to our son.

Our firstborn.

The one you make all your trial and error runs on.  The one you learn how to be a parent with.

Peter was 30 years old.  As he entered into adult hood, he entered into a lifestyle that was completely foreign to us.  The gay community welcomed him as no other group of peers had.  He felt he had a place there.

Soon, it led to drinking, to drugs, to disease and to eventual death.  I received news of his death the day before a scheduled back surgery.  My world came crashing down.  We knew this day would come, but you're just never quite prepared when you actually hear the news.

Peter's body was bruised and broken, and it had taken enough.  From what I understand, he fought long and hard in the emergency room, but his heart couldn't withstand it anymore.  He died three hours later.

Though we butted heads on more than one occasion, he was still the same, sweet young man that we had raised.  It wasn't until his graduation from high school that I learned that he had given up his lunch period for six years to go and read to the mentally disabled kids.  These kids loved him and accepted him - and he didn't have to eat alone.

At his funeral, Mr. Kerry spoke of others within his ancestry that also had buried children - namely his own father, and several grandfathers.  Their feelings would have been no different than the feelings we grappled with on news of Peter's death.

There is not a single day that I don't think of him, grieve for him, feel anger about losing him, and long to hold him. 

I can't wait for that day...

Peter, about a year before he died.

Peter, the week before he died.  Drugs had really taken hold of him, as well as HIV and Aids.  He had what is called "meth mouth", where his teeth were crumbling even while eating soft foods.

Lost In A Sea of Faces

Lost in a Sea of Faces!

I was six years old, and I was lost.

Quite often, my parents and sometimes my sisters would travel to Palmyra, New York to view the Hill Cumorah Pageant.  It is the one of the largest outdoor pageants in America, and quite possibly the world, with a cast of 700.  Nightly attendance averages 10,000 and more.  Our family had the opportunity to be in the cast on several occasions.  It was one of the highlights of our lives.

When I was about six, my parents and I were there with sister Ferne.  I can't remember if any other of my sisters were there or not.  I just know that we had been sitting in our seats for a long time and were waiting for the time when the pageant would begin. 

Since I was young and a bit squirrelly, I was hopping up and down and trying to convince my mom that I needed to go to the bathroom.  She was hesitant, for she really didn't want to leave her seat.  Ferne said to just go ahead and let me go, and told me the exact route to take up through all of the people to get to the restrooms.  It really wasn't very complicated.  But, I was six.

I came back out, looked around and couldn't remember the route.  It was really just a straight walk down an aisle, but I was six.

I began to cry.  There was a light rain that was threatening us.  I had on a blue and red plaid raincoat.  As more time went by, I began to get terrified.  I saw a sea of faces and knew I'd never see my mom again! 

I cried more.  Soon, a man picked me up and dried my eyes and helped me blow my nose.  He had me stand on one of the benches and helped me look out over the crowd.

I soon spotted my mom!!!  She had begun to worry and was going up and down the aisles looking for me.  When she saw me standing on that bench, she pushed through the crowd, thanked the man, and held my hand tightly back to our seats.

I felt so safe and secure.  Relief just swept over me.  Mom later told me I looked so forlorn when she saw me - and I was just as cold and blue as the blue in my raincoat.

Peggy at age 6 - about the time this incident happened.

I guess as a result of that experience, I worried that the same thing would happen when I began to have my own little family.  I thought the best way to help prevent this was to have something identifiable on us so that we could see each other better.  Shirts were the best idea.   

My good friend, Waunita, told me that when she and her husband took their boys to Sea World, they did that very thing.  Except - there were lots of school children there that day and they all had the same color of shirts on!

So, when we went to Disneyland, I had all of us wear red shirts.  Sure enough, there was a sea of red shirts there that day!  But, there was one man in a yellow t-shirt that I could spot anywhere in the park.  (Yellow stands out particularly well for our eyes.  That's why we have black on yellow for our "warning" road signs - Merge, Railroad, etc.)

Also, when we dressed alike, not only was it easier to spot my kids, but it was easy for them to spot us, too!  They could tell a cop or an information person or a store clerk exactly what their parents were wearing...

I might add that we don't all dress alike now.  They're on their own.